And Puppy Makes Three
by Rhianwen
Summary: A chilling and cavityinducing tale of ROD past, in which an adolescent Joseph Carpenter is bullied into a job babysitting little Wendy Earhart, five years old at her last birthday. Witness Joseph's horror as he realizes this brat is smarter than she looks


And Puppy Makes Three

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Summary: A chilling and cavity-inducing tale of ROD past, in which an adolescent Joseph Carpenter is bullied into a job babysitting little Wendy Earhart, five years old at her last birthday. Witness young Joseph's struggle as he braves, with very nearly unwavering resolve, the perils of dinner-time, tea parties, fights over cookies, and Angus the Dog.

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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and I think they're looking at me funny again.

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This was quickly shaping up to be the worst day of his life.

To be sure, fifteen years was hardly a vast stretch of time to judge by, but young Joseph Carpenter was reasonably certain that Fate would have been hard-pressed to throw another day this teeth-grindingly awful at him.

To start out with, the cold water had decided to turn nearly glacial in its iciness this morning, which had certainly woken him up effectively, but had put him in a distinctly bad mood before he could even make it downstairs.

It would, of course, get worse from there, starting him on a long, gruelling journey of missed buses, irate teachers, inedible tuna salad, and one freak accident involving his closest friend plummeting down a well with no more than a gentle shove from him (followed by a howl of agony when he recalled that Charles still owed him a fairly hefty sum of money that he would now likely never reclaim).

This ghastly day had eventually culminated in a horrifying revelation, when Mr. Gentleman, the most feared and respected entity known to his vast experience of fifteen years, looked him sternly in the eye and requested one good reason that he, Joseph, couldn't babysit tonight.

Joseph had stumbled over his words for several awkward moments, unwilling to anger the man who would hopefully hold the key to his successful future by refusing to babysit the small daughter of an apparently fairly important employee's brother, but doubly unwilling to go into this without a fight.

A fight it had been, ultimately ending in a victory for Mr. Gentleman, as was not _entirely_ predictable, but very nearly.

And now here he was, staring with an expression of pure loathing down at a little girl of five years old, cherubic face framed by longish, fluffy blonde hair, big blue eyes staring solemnly and curiously back up at him.

"Wendy, sweetie, this is Joseph," the girl's pretty, dark-haired, dark-eyed mother, presumably the reason for her daughter's deep tan in stark contrast with Stephen Earhart's almost sickly pallor, said in the sort of tone generally used in attempt to get a child excited about nothing. "He's agreed to look after you this evening. Wasn't that kind of him?"

Continuing to examine her babysitter solemnly, little Wendy nodded hesitantly, before looking up at her mother.

"Angus too?"

"Yes, love, Angus too."

"Who's Angus?" Joseph asked suspiciously.

Wendy sent him a dazzling smile that might have melted a heart less stony than that of a fifteen-year old boy roped into babysitting on a Friday night.

"My puppy!" With that, she turned and trotted toward the doorway leading down a hallway. "Angus! Come meet Joseph!"

Joseph watched, an expression of horror frozen firmly in place, as a fairly large, shaggy dog, a collie of the bearded variety, bounded down the hallway, eager for his tiny mistress's attention.

"Mr. Earhart!" he whispered urgently to the little energy molecule's father. "I have a request."

The fair-haired man beamed.

"Of course, Joseph; what is it?"

"Halve my pay if you want, but for the love of all things holy, lock up the dog!"

Stephen Earhart shook his head, frowning, eyes fixed upon his daughter snuggling blissfully with the family pet.

"I don't know if that's really feasible. And anyway, I think you'll find Wendy a lot more manageable if you let her keep Angus with her."

"I can manage a five-year old girl," Joseph countered through gritted teeth. "A huge, hairy monster like that is another matter."

"Angus isn't a monster!" Wendy protested to both men's surprise. "He's a _nice_ puppy! Come say hello?"

Joseph, though he budged not a whit beneath the big, hopeful, pleading blue eyes of his little charge for the evening, did feel his resolve begin to wilt slightly beneath Mr. Earhart's warning glare.

_I suppose he'll tell Mr. Gentleman I abused the little brat horribly if I don't let her do exactly what she wants._

"Alright," he said with very forced cheerfulness, bending until he was eye-level with the dog. "Hello, Angus."

_WHY ME! _his internal monologue howled approximately three seconds later as he found himself pinned to the floor beneath the weight of a huge, furry comet, aware through his peripheral vision of a skinny, sunburned little blonde creature giggling away.

"Angus likes you!" she chirped, hardly sparing her parents a glance as they took the diversion as perfect opportunity to disappear before either their daughter or her babysitter could cling desperately to their leg and beg to not be left alone with the other.

Joseph groaned.

This would be a long night.

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"Joseph?" Wendy piped up about half an hour later from across the supper table, peering into his plate with a troubled expression.

He gave a long-suffering sigh.

"What?"

"Why aren't you eating your veggies?"

He set down his fork and stared blankly at her.

"What?"

"You haven't eaten any of your veggies! I'm already finished mine."

"I'll get right to work on your medal," he muttered, pushing a floret of broccoli around his plate with his fork, chin in his hand.

Big blue eyes filled with horror.

"Metal! I don't want any metal! Mummy always lets me have a cookie when I eat my veggies without a fuss!"

The young man looked up, suddenly interested.

"There are cookies?"

His tiny dinner companion took on a stern look.

"Joseph, you can't have cookies until you eat your veggies. Those are the rules."

"Why don't we just forego the rules for tonight?"

"But I already ate my veggies!"

He stood, moved around the table, and crouched next to her chair.

"Wendy, just tell me where the cookies are, and I'll let you wait up until your Mum and Dad come home."

"But then I'll be cranky tomorrow!" she wailed. "That's what Mummy says: when you don't sleep enough, you end up cranky the next day. Like you!"

"I am not cranky," he protested huffily.

"You look cranky. That's how I act when I'm cranky. I'm all scowly and I don't want to eat my veggies and I throw tantrums when I don't get cookies."

"Fascinating. Now, where are the cookies?"

"I'm not telling!"

"Listen, you little brat, either you tell me where those cookies are, or that dog is going outside, and you're going straight to bed!"

"No! Daddy said I could have Angus with me!"

"_Daddy_ isn't here right now, and in his absence, you are to behave your dear little self and mind your sitter—Wendy?"

But the tiny golden-haired child had fled.

As he heard a scuffle of paws, the thud of little shoes, and then the slam of a door, Joseph sighed heavily.

"I'm starting to wish I'd thrown myself down that ravine, too," he muttered, tipping the remnants of his dinner into the garbage bin and tromping toward the stairs.

He stopped in front of the only door in the hallway that was shut tightly and most likely locked.

Not to mention, the only door that had a big, bright, cheery poster of winged fairies in pink and green.

"Wendy!" he called, rapping sharply at the door.

"Go away!" an angry little voice replied from within, accompanied by a plaintive bark.

He leaned wearily against the door.

"Come on, Wendy, just come out, and we'll forget all about this."

"No! You're going to take my puppy away!"

"I won't take your puppy."

"I don't trust you! You're mean!"

"I've finished my vegetables."

"Liar."

"Come out and see for yourself. Then you can show me where the cookies are, and I won't have to put your dog outside."

The door creaked slowly open, and Wendy crept out hesitantly, shooing Angus back.

"Alright, but Angus is staying in my room, and you have to stay with me, so I know you're not putting him outside!"

With that, she clung firmly to Joseph's hand and marched him downstairs.

"See?" he said, indicating the empty plate. "No more vegetables."

"Hmm," Wendy said, examining the plate very carefully, before examining the place mat, the floor beneath his chair, the floor beneath the table, and the napkin still carefully folded next to the plate.

He rolled his eyes as she lifted up the edge of the plate and peeked underneath. Finally she turned from the table, and he gave a startled near-yelp as a tiny blonde comet came hurtling at him.

"You ate your veggies! Now you'll grow up big and strong!" she declared jubilantly, arms clinging tightly around his waist, head nuzzled comfortably at his hip.

"The cookies?" he prompted impatiently, grudgingly patting her hair.

"I don't know where they are," she admitted blushingly. "Mummy doesn't let me see her hide them since I learned to climb up onto the counter."

The patting stopped abruptly.

"You manipulative little--" He sighed. "Alright, you win. This time. Shall we go have ice cream?"

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"Ice cream is yummy, and I love ice cream, and Angus loves ice cream, and Mummy loves ice cream, and Daddy loves ice cream, and Joseph loves ice cream!" Wendy sang happily as she skipped down the street at her beloved babysitter's side.

"I hate my life...I hate my life...I hate my life," Joseph muttered over and over as the little energy molecule next to him continued to make up cheerful little songs about the joys of ice cream.

"You shouldn't be so sad!" Wendy admonished very seriously. "Ice cream is a happy time! Especially when it's strawberry! You shoul' be happy!"

"I'll be _happy_ when I have my ice cream," Joseph grumbled. "Vanilla, by the way. The only kind worth eating."

"You're cranky."

"I'm not cranky."

"Cranky, cranky, cranky-pants!"

"Alright, one more comment about my pants, and we're going straight home!"

At this, the little girl's eyes filled swiftly with tears.

"No! You said we could have ice cream!"

"Yes, we're going for ice cream! Now, stop crying," he half-pleaded, near tears of his own.

"Okay!" she chirped, sunshine again in an instant.

Joseph made a sound that he would deny to his dying day had been a _whimper_.

"Oww..."

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"What are we going to play now?" Wendy asked excitedly approximately an hour later, once the ice cream had been obtained, purchased, eaten, and the trip home had been made.

Joseph, seated on the couch, head bowed in his hands, glared up at the relentlessly cheerful little girl.

"Why don't _you_ go play something, and let me wait for the painkillers to kick in?"

All business in an instant, Wendy climbed onto the couch next to him and began prodding.

"Where does it hurt?"

"I have a headache, alright?"

"You have tummyache in your head? Sometimes I have that when I play in the sun too long. Mummy always has me lie down with a cold cloth over my eyes. I'll go fetch you one!"

With that, she scurried away, and Joseph gave a long sigh of relief, before nodding thoughtfully and lying back on the couch.

He had just begun to doze off slightly, when a shock of something cold splattering against his forehead made him sit bolt upright again.

A soggy washcloth toppled into his lap, and an indignant Wendy frowned at him.

"You're supposed to leave it on your head to make the headache go away!"

With a sigh of defeat, he lay back down and let the tiny child settle the compress over his eyes again.

"Now I'll go make you some tea!" she informed him happily, before little shoes pounded off into the kitchen again.

"She's going to burn down the house," he muttered sleepily, "and I can't even move to stop it. Well, Charles, I suppose I'll see you soon. And damn you, I want my money back."

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He stared mistrustfully into his teacup.

"Try it!" she insisted. "It's really good! But you didn't tell me if you like cream and sugar."

"No, no, this is just fine," he assured her, sniffing delicately at the steaming beverage.

It certainly smelled like tea.

A tiny, cautious sip.

Tasted like tea, too. Rather good tea, in all honesty. In a matter of moments, the cup was drained, and Joseph was eyeing Wendy rather warily.

"Who taught you to make tea like that?"

"I watched Mummy," she replied comfortably, peeking up over her shoulder from her position on the rug, playing happily with some army dolls that had presumably belonged to an older cousin or something, unless they were simply Stephen Earhart's attempt to turn his only daughter into an only son.

At any rate, it didn't seem to be working; Wendy was busily fitting a frilly pink doll frock over one, and a blue lacy bonnet on the other.

He shook his head. She might be terribly confused, but she did make an excellent cup of tea. Perhaps this could be of use to him.

Someday.

But for now...

"Alright, Wendy, I think it's time for bed."

"Already?" she sighed sadly, eyes huge and pleading.

"Yes, already," he retorted. "Your Daddy said eight o' clock, and it's already a quarter to nine."

"I need a drink of water first."

"Go on and get into your pyjamas, and I'll get your drink of water ready."

With a compliant nod, she trotted toward the stairs and disappeared into the second door on the left.

Shaking his head, he deposited the dishes into the sink, and pulled a glass from the cupboard.

After settling into the sofa for a comfortable wait, Joseph flipped on the television, and quickly flipped it off in disgust. Why on earth didn't Mr. Gentleman just abolish such stupidity with his vast and boundless power?

"All done," a chirpy little voice announced proudly.

He turned to the child, now clad in snuggly soft pink one-piece footie pyjamas, one arm wrapped comfortably around Angus's neck.

"Wonderful. Here, take your drink of water and go to bed."

"But Mummy always gives me a goodnight hug and kiss!"

With a long-suffering sigh, he stooped to give the girl a very quick, cursory hug and a quicker peck on the forehead.

"Angus too!"

"I'm not kissing your dog."

"But he won't be able to sleep then!"

"Good."

"You're mean!"

"That's right."

Sticking her tongue out at him petulantly, Wendy stormed to the stairs, followed by an Angus that, in all likelihood, had no idea what was going on.

"Finally," Joseph muttered, flopping back on the couch. "A little peace."

Five minutes later, when Wendy crept back downstairs to apologize with huge sad eyes for being so mean, he was sound asleep.

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It was not until much later that evening that the man and lady of the house returned from a party so excruciatingly mind-numbing that they had yet to recall the ability to speak in full sentences, to the curious sight of young Joseph, as Stephen Earhart had been calling him fondly all evening, passed out cold on the couch and covered haphazardly with a throw blanket much to small for the task.

The source of the throw blanket, or at least, the the vessel by which it had entered the picture, was seated comfortably on top of him, staging a tea party with her army dolls at the back of his thoroughly unconscious head.

"Em, Wendy," the girl's mother called hesitantly. "What are you doing?"

"Shh!" Wendy said severely. "Joseph is sleeping!"

Mr. and Mrs. Earhart exchanged long-suffering glances.

Perhaps, they decided nearly simultaneously, they ought to think about finding their own sitters for their daughter from now on. This one was even worse than that Anderson fellow Mr. Gentleman had sent to look after Wendy last week.

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End file.
